James "Bucky" Barnes | The Winter Soldier (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
disassembles) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
entrancelogs2015-08-29 01:16 am
disassembles) wrote in entrancelogs2015-08-29 01:16 am
start by pulling him out of the fire [open]
Who: Bucky Barnes and YOU
Where: All over Wonderland!
When: 08/28 - 09/02
Rating: R for violence?
Summary: Sometimes the nightmare starts when you wake up.
The Story:
08/28 - 08/29 he was supposed to be an angel but they took him from that light
For a long time, James has slept with weapons always nearby, but lately he worries about night terrors; he worries about hurting someone he cares about, half-awake. He's begun to keep anything sharp away from the bed, since that day Steve woke up half his usual size.
He thinks he's dreaming when Steve attacks him that morning, fingers tight around his throat. Even when the reality sets in later, all of his bruises darkening in daylight, he can't bring himself to believe it.
He gets Darcy to a safe room that no one else knows about, and spends much of the first day gathering information with her. He already has an idea of what's happened, and he tells a few people as much.
By the second day, it's no longer a question of someone else's memory gone awry. After he makes his announcement, he returns to the safe room. He can only hope that people see it and listen to him, but at least in some cases HYDRA won't have the advantage of confusion. He has some contacts now, too, and he organizes with them, trading information and strategy with the people who responded to him. He doesn't think about the people who didn't respond. He'll find them.
HYDRA may have created the Winter Soldier in their labs, but they don't know him anymore.
08/29 - 09/01 and turned him into something hungry
James is on the hunt.
He knows another brainwashed soldier like he knows his own reflection. He stays out of sight, but he follows them, taking note of rooms with weapons and equipment of all kinds. He circles back to them at night and during odd hours of the day, cornering those who might be wandering alone. There's no point in destroying the room when they can create more of them as easily as opening a door. He makes a mess of lab work, wipes hard drives, and carefully sabotages ammunition. For the most part however, it's the people he's concerned with.
When he sees an agent strapping someone to a chair, discretion dictates that he should disappear, that the danger of reinforcements emerging quickly is too great.
Leaving someone to be brainwashed, however, would be a failure.
Perhaps he drops the HYDRA agent with a shot to the shoulder, or perhaps he tries to sneak up behind them and hold his hand over their nose and mouth, choking them out. He tries to be quick, quiet, and non-lethal. His objective is to save people. Those who are brainwashed are victims too, he's been told.
There are more familiar faces in the crosshairs of his rifle, at the end of his knife. He pleads with them, always on the defensive. More often than not, it doesn't work.
He doesn't sleep. He can't. Luckily, he doesn't need very much of it anyway.
09/02 and onward something that forgets what his hands are for when they aren’t shaking
He sleeps for almost a full day when it's over - still in a safe room, far away from everyone. He doesn't really want to wake up, but he does anyway.
He's off-balance on his feet for the first hour, learning to compensate again for the wreckage where his arm used to be. He trims the hanging wires and twists off little bits of metal, then wraps the stub of his shoulder, mostly to keep it from catching on all of his clothes. He does a passable job with the rest of the bandages, and presses lightly at fractures to gauge how they're healing. It'll all be gone in no time anyway.
He pins his sleeve up before he gets dressed and turns his phone back on. He sends a message to anyone who hasn't sent him one already, and then goes through replying to everyone else.
Eventually, it's Dodger whining at him and tugging at his pant leg that gets him out of the safe room.
He goes home. He doesn't have anywhere else to be.
[ ooc: Feel free to tag in at any point during the event! These are mostly catch-all starters. I'll match prose/brackets. ]
Where: All over Wonderland!
When: 08/28 - 09/02
Rating: R for violence?
Summary: Sometimes the nightmare starts when you wake up.
The Story:
For a long time, James has slept with weapons always nearby, but lately he worries about night terrors; he worries about hurting someone he cares about, half-awake. He's begun to keep anything sharp away from the bed, since that day Steve woke up half his usual size.
He thinks he's dreaming when Steve attacks him that morning, fingers tight around his throat. Even when the reality sets in later, all of his bruises darkening in daylight, he can't bring himself to believe it.
He gets Darcy to a safe room that no one else knows about, and spends much of the first day gathering information with her. He already has an idea of what's happened, and he tells a few people as much.
By the second day, it's no longer a question of someone else's memory gone awry. After he makes his announcement, he returns to the safe room. He can only hope that people see it and listen to him, but at least in some cases HYDRA won't have the advantage of confusion. He has some contacts now, too, and he organizes with them, trading information and strategy with the people who responded to him. He doesn't think about the people who didn't respond. He'll find them.
HYDRA may have created the Winter Soldier in their labs, but they don't know him anymore.
James is on the hunt.
He knows another brainwashed soldier like he knows his own reflection. He stays out of sight, but he follows them, taking note of rooms with weapons and equipment of all kinds. He circles back to them at night and during odd hours of the day, cornering those who might be wandering alone. There's no point in destroying the room when they can create more of them as easily as opening a door. He makes a mess of lab work, wipes hard drives, and carefully sabotages ammunition. For the most part however, it's the people he's concerned with.
When he sees an agent strapping someone to a chair, discretion dictates that he should disappear, that the danger of reinforcements emerging quickly is too great.
Leaving someone to be brainwashed, however, would be a failure.
Perhaps he drops the HYDRA agent with a shot to the shoulder, or perhaps he tries to sneak up behind them and hold his hand over their nose and mouth, choking them out. He tries to be quick, quiet, and non-lethal. His objective is to save people. Those who are brainwashed are victims too, he's been told.
There are more familiar faces in the crosshairs of his rifle, at the end of his knife. He pleads with them, always on the defensive. More often than not, it doesn't work.
He doesn't sleep. He can't. Luckily, he doesn't need very much of it anyway.
He sleeps for almost a full day when it's over - still in a safe room, far away from everyone. He doesn't really want to wake up, but he does anyway.
He's off-balance on his feet for the first hour, learning to compensate again for the wreckage where his arm used to be. He trims the hanging wires and twists off little bits of metal, then wraps the stub of his shoulder, mostly to keep it from catching on all of his clothes. He does a passable job with the rest of the bandages, and presses lightly at fractures to gauge how they're healing. It'll all be gone in no time anyway.
He pins his sleeve up before he gets dressed and turns his phone back on. He sends a message to anyone who hasn't sent him one already, and then goes through replying to everyone else.
Eventually, it's Dodger whining at him and tugging at his pant leg that gets him out of the safe room.
He goes home. He doesn't have anywhere else to be.
[ ooc: Feel free to tag in at any point during the event! These are mostly catch-all starters. I'll match prose/brackets. ]
30th (If this doesn't work, lemme know.)
One hand slipped down to her belt, unsnapping the strap that kept her combat knife in place. She could hear him sneaking, but as good as he was, he probably noticed her subtle movement for the blade. So, before he could reconsider, she turned quickly, throwing a clipboard at him from the desk as a distraction as the second hand, in the same fluid motion, threw the blade only a second after the clipboard. Time to see just how good he was.
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He also knows that this is something he brought down on her shoulders. He follows her into the room, watches her hand drop to the blade and the other grip tight around a clipboard. She's quick, and the trick itself is clever, but James is a creature of combat. He doesn't move. The clipboard bounces off his chest, and in a flash the knife is buried harmlessly between two metal fingers, caught in mid air.
James flips it and throws, aiming for the control panel's main wiring. He doesn't look at anything but her, the whole time.
"I don't want to fight you," He says. The softness in his expression is at odds with the sharp efficiency of his actions, and the way his empty hands curl at his sides. His words are still the whole-hearted truth. "HYDRA is lying to you; I think you know that they are."
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She reacted quickly when the blade was thrown again, drawing a combat knife, she turned and hit the first with the blade of the second, causing it to spin out of control away from the target and clatter to the ground. She knew she stood no chance of trying to catch it, but deflecting was an easier manoeuvre. The vibration of the two blades colliding left her hand numb, but she ignored it. Her attention was back on him as soon as the blade hit the ground. Then he spoke...
Confusion broke through layers of carefully constructed lies, because what he said... was true. How could it be true? She shook her head as if trying to rid the thought from it.
"That's... no. This is a trick." She hissed. Of anything he could have said, you know that they are made her focus briefly on her power and that truth jostled the dam holding back the buried lies. A dull ache started behind her eyes, causing her to squint as if the room was suddenly too bright.
"It doesn't matter. I am theirs to lie to. We are the only choice for peace and unity." She insisted mechanically. "Then don't fight me. Join the inevitable."
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James had always liked long odds.
"I joined already. Didn't get a t-shirt but..." James shrugs, left shoulder. The motion makes all of the plates in his arm re-settle. He gestures at the chair, short and sharp. "You know what that thing does as well as I do. HYDRA isn't giving you anything. They're taking your free will, your memories, everything that you care about. You know this is wrong. You just have to trust yourself."
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"I don't need free will or memories. I'm not meant to. I'm only meant to serve HYDRA. If you really did serve once, then why do you dare stand against them now? HYDRA is the only choice." She insists, steeling herself against the doubt, the fear. The images of green eyes and a gold diadem flash briefly in her mind and it frightens her. "How... are you doing this? How are you bypassing my power? Making your words feel like truth, when I know they're false. It's not true!"
Her movements are sloppy, hindered by her sudden burst of rage as she launches herself towards the soldier, flipping the knife in her palm so the blade pointed up, she feinted to her left (his right) at the last minute to keep herself away from that metal arm, and dropped to a crouch, trying to duck under whatever grapple might pursue her. If she manages to evade him, provided he actually does anything to stop her, she'll try to spin behind him and attempt to lodge the blade between the bottom two ribs in the right side of his ribcage.
__________
[OOC: Feel free to auto-stop her/grab her/block her anywhere in her movements. <3]
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He has no idea what power she's referring to, but he can guess well enough to use it.
"I'm not bypassing anything, HYDRA is--" His body moves before he fully registers the threat, his right hand going directly for her throat faster than most humans could react. The feint was easy to predict. His left arm is bare and shined bright silver for more than one reason: as deadly as it is, it's a distraction.
He drags her back in front of him by the throat, half-lifting her off the floor, and grabs her wrist with his left hand, giving it a violent shake to dislodge the knife while she's stunned and struggling for breath.
He doesn't want to do this, but he doesn't know what choice he has. At least if she's unconscious, she'll be safe. "I'm sorry. For everything."
[ooc: let me know if you need anything changed at all!]
Nope, nope! It was beautiful!
His words reached something in her that would file them away for later. For what it was worth, his apology seemed to be genuine. Not that that would mean anything to the HYDRA agent, but it would mean something to Verity when she was back in her own head.
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He lets her curl her fingers around his wrist, lets her knee him wherever she can hit. He feels it even through layers of protective clothing, but all she gets out of him is a grunt. A few bruises aren't enough to distract him from his mission. He knows that her struggling will just make her pass out sooner as her lungs burn for air.
His grip on her throat eases briefly when her fingers find their mark, and the soldier frowns. He drags her other hand over, still clutching the knife, and tries to get her to nick a shallow cut in her forearm - nothing that will cause her to bleed out, just a distraction to give him the precious few seconds he needs to finish the job.
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Morning of the 28th /cracks knuckles
She hadn't wanted to get up early on a Friday morning, but the coffee shop had needed a little attention. If she hadn't been dragging her feet she might have made it down early enough to have a mini freak-out thanks to the mansion... But, mornings were hard. Having just slipped her phone into her back pocket, fingers pause on the doorknob as she pulls it open to what sounds like chaos across the hall.
It takes her a second to figure out what's going on, letting her gaze shift for a moment to the new posters. She doesn't stare too long when a louder noise seems to shake the room across from her. There was no way this was gonna be good. Fully shutting her door behind her, fingers still resting on the knob, her voice is tentative - not sure she's gonna like whatever comes out from behind the other door.
"Uh... Guys?" Please be wrestling or something dumb.
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"Steve please." James begs, nothing short of panicked desperation in his voice. The door opens a moment later, and a little golden retriever puppy bolts outside. James backs out slowly, his hands up in a familiar defensive position.
He wearing a pair of sweatpants and nothing else, wholly unarmed. His eyes are wide, horrified. He's bleeding from a split lip, bruises already beginning to show around his throat. Inside, Steve is down for the moment, but he's already shaking off the hit.
James turns sharply, and the moment his eyes focus on Darcy he grabs her arm. "Run, now!"
He pulls her with him, then pushes her ahead as they make for the stairs.
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Letting him guide her, she focuses on not tripping as she moves to run down the stairs.
"What the hell is going on?"
It's broken and breathy as she moves - not even sure where they can go to get away from him if things had gone as bad as she guessed. Right now? She's just gonna run until he tells her to stop.
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He beacons for Darcy to come with him to the 4th floor. "It's not safe to go back to your room, but I've got a space here."
He doesn't relax, weary of any other surprises this morning. "I don't know what's going on. Something's wrong with Steve. He doesn't remember who he is - who I am - anything."
His own breathing is still uneven, and it has nothing to do with the sprint, but James fights to get himself back under control as he picks the lock to his safe room. "He thinks he's with HYDRA."
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“HYDRA?” She’s not even gonna comment on the fact that he has a safe room. It really isn’t as much of a surprise as it should be and maybe that in and of itself is enough of a surprise. She wasn’t ready for this type of event, not when the mansion was going to chuck this kind of crap at them.
“What do we do? I mean, if it hit Steve, he can’t be the only one.”
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He lets Dodger in before he shuts the door and locks it.
"Yeah, that's what I was thinking," he says, heading straight for the closet. He drags out some tactical gear, tossing it onto the couch nearby. "I've gotta do some recon. You'll be safe if you stay here."
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She shrugs, running through her mental roladex of people here that might be helpful. "I can talk to an angel I know to get a few rooms hidden from everyone. It's not foolproof, but it'd be a start. There are kids here, Bucky... What if -" Nope. Nope. She's not starting the what-if game right now.
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He should have known that Darcy wouldn't sit by and let things happen, but at the moment he's honestly grateful for it. If this is even half as bad as he thinks it's going to be, he's going to need all of the help he can get - and there's almost no one in this place that he trusts more than Darcy.
He just wishes that he wasn't about to drag her into more trouble.
"Alright, do it. Just don't let him know where you are unless you're sure you can trust him."
He turns back to her when she trails off, coming back over to actually get a look at her. Not the quick once-over 'I'm checking you for physical injuries' kind, but an a deeper kind of concern. He hesitates a moment, then reaches for her shoulder with his right hand. "Don't. We don't know anything yet."
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And considering what kinda crap this place likes to pull up? Better that she can help rather than try to lay low and probably get herself into trouble. Especially thinking about the types of people here who could get hit. Them having Steve was already bad enough.
"Yeah, I will - I -" Could angels even be brainwashed? Did she want to know? She swallows hard, keeping her gaze on him as his hand moves for her shoulder. "We know it's bad. We know that if it keeps up at the rate this kinda crap normally does, it's gonna get a lot worse. Kinda hard to not think about what-ifs. Like what if they get ahold of Thor? Or even Bruce? How are we even gonna be able to tell with all of them?"
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"If they had Banner, we'd know. Chances are he's smart enough to stay clear. I don't even know if they could restrain people like him or Thor." Yet. He doesn't say, but he knows she's thinking it too. He gives her shoulder a brief squeeze. "Look, it's just like training. The big picture is important, but you deal with what's in front of you first. You do what you can with what you know."
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That much is true, no argument coming from her at his assessment and yes... She definitely has the word yet floating in the back of her mind. Goes great with what-if. Giving a little shake of her head, she can't help but doubt a little more than she should. "Well, if the people they already grabbed don't remember anything, maybe some of the others'll be safe enough for now." There's another what-if she could bring up but she won't. "What're you gonna do? You can't stop everything on your own. We need a plan."
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"I'm not that bad." He didn't run into things half-cocked usually.
Sometimes.
He wasn't doing it right at this moment was the point. "I'm gonna see if I can figure out what they're after, and what kind of resources they're working with. Strictly recon. I'll be back in a few hours, but I want you to--" He pauses, catching himself. "I want us to check-in. With each other."
That sounds reasonable, right? Not check in with me because I don't want to leave you alone like this or I don't want to deal with this alone, either.
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"A few hours. Alright." Her gaze drops to her feet for a moment before moving back to his face, fairly certain of what he stopped himself from saying. "I'll grab a laptop out of the closet and start making some new lists so we can keep track of maybe where they're setting up strongholds or what they're targeting. I'll see what I can remember from the Wonderland phone tree up in my room and see about reaching out to a few people. That way you can also text me updates and we can keep a master list of who's been hit and who's still okay."
A list she can leave in here that they can both access in an attempt to stay ahead. It's also a really nice thing for her to focus on to stay busy because busy will be good rather than sitting and worrying about him being out there.
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"Call me if you need me, or if I can do anything else to help out. I'll see you soon." He goes to strap on the last of his weaponry, and with one last glance back at her, he closes the door and locks it behind him. If only he could believe that it would be enough t keep her, or any of them safe.
30th.
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"Billy," He says, his eyes going a little wide with recognition. He lowers the weapon just slightly. He hasn't seen or heard from Billy since this started, and he doesn't know if it's because he got to him too late, or if it's because he'd been HYDRA from the start. It doesn't matter either way. Billy looks right through him, doesn't know him. "Don't do this, kid. I'm too handsome to be turned into a frog."
Come on Billy, you're in there somewhere.
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He ignores the name, everyone has been calling him that, it's a distraction, nothing more. His words don't make any sense though. "We aren't turning people into frogs." Wiccan says carefully.
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The gun lowers a little more. Maybe if the circumstances were different, he'd have put the weapon away and put all of his faith in Billy snapping out of it before he did anything he'd really regret, but he knows he can't do that. If he's wrong, if he fails like he did with Steve... It's just not something he can afford when there are civilian lives in the balance.
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"You should come with me." He knows this one won't but he is stalling trying to asses his target to figure out the best course of action. He has a gun, but he's lowered it slightly- reluctant to use it, but he holds it like he knows what he's doing so Wiccan can't dismiss it. His stand screams fighter and his arm- his arm is mechanical? Something twinges in the back of Wiccan's mind, something he should know but he doesn't know what. He shakes the thought aside, he needs to be prepared for a fight.
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He's taking one last shot. He can already tell that this isn't going to get through to Billy. James can't take him in a fair fight, straight-on, either... but he's been assessing Billy since he first laid eyes on him. He knows what he's planning to do.
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James moves as quickly as his enhancements allow, lifting the flash grenade from his belt to toss it into the air between them. He turns to bolt into the nearest doorway and thinks of shipyards, a maze of large containers to get lost in.
09/02 SURPRISE I'M A MONTH LATE
Or rather, he had been here, but not as himself.
Dodger comes over and whines at him, forcing his snout against Steve's palm, behaving as if he hasn't seen him in a while. That's because he hasn't. The dog had probably smelled it on him, but as Steve remembers all of the horrible things that he did (that he'd been made to do), he wants to be sick. Unfortunately, his body doesn't quite cooperate with him there.
When he tries to stand from his bed he's assaulted with a twinge in his side and his leg -- from the wounds that Bucky and Sharon gave him. Bucky, Sharon, Darcy, and all of the other people he'd terrorized and tried to brainwash. It hits him like a tidal wave and the prospect of trying to make up for all that is overwhelming.
All those things he said and did because he didn't know any better. Steve's whole body tenses up with the realization that he'll never be able to properly make up for this. It's going to follow him around like a ghost for the rest of his life, or for as long as he's allowed to remember it.
While he'd always wished for a point of understanding between himself and Bucky, he hadn't expected this.
Steve checks his phone and finds a text from Bucky, asking him if he's all right. It's not like he's missed the fact that Bucky isn't here in the room with him, where he'd normally be. That isn't going to be a habit anymore, Steve can already guess. He doesn't respond at first, but digs through his drawers for his vendor voucher and heads down (wearing a jacket with the hood pulled up so no one stops him) to repay a favor.
About half an hour later, he's back in his room with the replacement metal arm laid across his lap. He texts Bucky a reply, telling him that he's in his room and he can come by if he wants.
Not that Steve can conceive of how he'd want to, after what happened.
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His phone remains silent, the initial responses and check-ins complete. All except for Steve, who he'd sent a message to last. He dismantles a gun for something to do with his hand. He stays in his own room, alone with his thoughts.
When he's put his pistol together a third time, he sets it down. His room isn't so different from Steve's in terms of being fairly simple, but there's a certain quality to the stillness of it, like an old photograph. It's weathered slightly, but ultimately stuck in another time. He doesn't do very much here, except work with on his notes or sleep when he's too restless to share a bed. He's restless now.
Steve's room is the place they'd spent most of their time together. He'd thought about going through and cleaning up whatever mess was left from their fight while Steve was out, but he didn't want Steve to stumble on him there if he wasn't ready to talk. He'd demanded some distance when he'd first gotten into his own head again. Steve deserved the same consideration.
But knowing Steve, he was just getting a head start on torturing himself for everything James had let him do. Could he blame Steve for being angry, for not wanting to see him after all of that?
When he gets the text, he doesn't hesitate even long enough to reply. He lets himself in through the door between their rooms. Steve is there with the sorriest expression he's ever seen and a hunk of metal laid out across his lap.
An arm, James realizes, but it's almost a footnote in comparison to everything else. When Steve looks at him, there's actual recognition in his eyes.
James shoves the arm out of his lap and drags Steve to his feet by the front of his shirt. There's a sudden pain all along his left side, a ghost of sensation, but he ignores it. He pulls Steve close with his hand on the back of his neck.
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It doesn't really matter. The fact is that now they are in the same room, sharing the space in which Steve had tried to practically murder Bucky one morning only a few days ago. It feels like so much longer than that. In some ways, it feels like it couldn't have happened at all. How could he have done something like that?
Because it hadn't been him. That's the easy answer. Wonderland didn't even give him a chance to resist, so how can he blame himself?
And yet he can, because these hands ripped Bucky's prosthetic right out of the socket. These hands dragged him down the hall to that room with the chair in it, making him relive his worst nightmare. Steve has apology after apology built up inside of him, and he's ready to say it all, but then Bucky grabs him.
The pain from his injuries washes through him again as he's made to stand, but Steve barely notices, not when he's being dragged toward the warmth of Bucky's chest, not when the hand Bucky still has presses against his neck. Steve thinks he should pull away, force Bucky back, insist that he's not safe -- but that isn't true.
So instead he sags, lets his head drop against Bucky's shoulder, and mutters, "I'm so sorry."
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He doesn't know where to begin with the rest. There's what they did to everyone else, what they did to each other... When Steve apologizes, his first instinct is to deny it. Steve doesn't have anything to apologize for, not to him. But the thing is - he's been exactly where Steve is, and no amount of arguing is going to change his mind right now. This is the last thing he ever wanted to share with Steve.
"I'm sorry too," he says, pulling back slowly. He doesn't move his hand from the back of Steve's neck. "So let's call it a draw, huh? We've gotta.... We should figure out this mess..."
James glances around the room, faltering.
"You wanna just - come back to my room?"
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It's relief enough that Bucky is willing to make any kind of physical contact right now, but Steve isn't so naive as to believe that there won't be lasting effects because of what he did.
Moving to a different room is a good idea, given what took place in this one. Steve nods, silent for a moment before he extracts himself and bends down to grab the arm he'd received from the vendors.
"You're gonna need to find someone qualified to attach this, but hopefully that won't take too long," Steve says, looking down at the metallic appendage instead of at Bucky as he speaks. His words are stilted, mainly because he has no idea where to start with all this and so right now, facts remain easiest.
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He swallows. He can handle this, Steve needs him to. It's fine. He's fine.
"Is this is brand new?" He turns it over in his hand. It looks exactly like the old one, but it's not broken off where it should be, and shoulder is blank. "How'd you get this?"
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It's difficult enough to even be in Bucky's presence right now, but Steve is doing his best to show a strong face and not make it too obvious that he'd like to claw his way out of his skin right now. No doubt Bucky's been there, can probably even see it on his face.
"The same way you got my shield back," Steve says, exhaling suddenly as he starts for the door to move over to Bucky's room.
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He glances at the room once more, then takes the arm with him back through to his own room. He disappears briefly to drop it off in the locked box where he keeps most of his weaponry, and then it's back to Steve looking lost in his living room.
"You're not okay," James says. He settles beside Steve, deliberately staying in his space. He's not dangerous, and James isn't afraid of him. "Talk to me, Steve."
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There's been many times in Steve's life that he's felt lost, but it's never been quite like this before. Wonderland has messed with his head a number of times already, but not in such a personal way.
When Bucky invades his space again, Steve glances up and stares at him blankly before he shakes his head and full-body sighs. "Just thinking back on... what what I said to you. On the thoughts I had. You weren't anything to me, just a means to an end. A piece of meat." He draws a breath in through his nose and bows his head.
"Anyway, I know I'm preaching to the choir here."
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"It's not like I didn't say some nasty things to you when I was on that side of it. And you went easy on the face, so at least I got to be a handsome piece of meat." He gives Steve a small, humorless smile. "What you did wasn't your fault - you didn't have any control over it. That doesn't make it easier, but it's still true."
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Normally the joke on Bucky's part would be enough to at least get a humorless smile out of Steve, but not this time. He glances up when Bucky parrots back words that Steve has told him time and time again, nodding slowly. "No, it doesn't make it any easier."
It's probably pointless to be this contrary when Bucky is only trying to help. Steve huffs out a breath and then drags a hand through his hair. "We're both just giant messes, aren't we?" Try as he might to always be strong, right now he feels as brittle as he had before the serum. Like the slightest amount of pressure would break his bones.
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"Yeah. Yeah, we really are." He doesn't expect Steve to smile or accept any kind of comfort, but he does lean in a little - slowly, telegraphing every move. He presses a light kiss to Steve's temple. It's an impulse, meant to be comforting more than anything.
"But you know what? We're gonna get through this like we get through everything else: together."
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So he doesn't say anything, simply allows it to happen as Bucky's lips brush over his temple. Steve closes his eyes and sinks into that moment for a few seconds. It seems wrong to be cared for after what he did, but if he continues to put himself in Bucky's shoes, it actually kind of helps. Accepting kindness for himself is a struggle, but if he considers himself a proxy of his own best friend, that's different.
"Listen to you, all optimistic." There's fondness in Steve's voice as he opens his eyes and then finds Bucky's. It's nice to look in them with complete clarity, knowing exactly who he is and what he means to him. No, it's more than nice. It's like a lifeline.
"... Thank you."
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If James can say anything for having his memories back, it's that he's grateful at times like this. If he can understand enough to help Steve, he must be doing something right. He knows they've got a lot ahead of them but - maybe, eventually, they really will be okay.
He can feel a flush of heat spread across his face at the way Steve looks at him, but he can't deny that he feels the same way. He nudges Steve's shoulder with his own. "What are boyfriends for?"
He inclines his head toward the TV. "Wanna watch a movie or something?"
It's more-or-less shorthand for curling up together on the couch at this point. He doesn't know if Steve has slept at all, or if he will, but they can at least spend a little time together before they head back to his room and try to sort out the whole mess.
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They can still curl up together and watch a movie, for instance. They're going to do so in Bucky's room instead of his own for obvious reasons, but it seems clear already that they can come back from this.
Together, they can do anything. Isn't that what Steve's always said?
"Sure." Whether or not he'll actually pay that much attention to the movie isn't important. Steve reaches out for Bucky's wrist and leads him over to the couch, almost on auto-pilot. If he can turn his brain off for a few hours, well, he'll take it.